


Heart

by L122ytorch



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heart Attacks, Realization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:57:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L122ytorch/pseuds/L122ytorch
Summary: Liz learns the truth, the whole truth.





	1. Chapter 1

***Set in the future***  
+++++++++++++++++++++

The oxygen had left the room, or at least that's what it felt like. Hot tears streamed down Liz's face and she choked against the truth that was now lodged in her throat. 

"Wh...why didn't you tell me?" the words came out in a strangled string. "You let me stand there and...and call you family..." her chest heaved up and down rapidly, a rosy flush spreading across her chest and cheeks. "You let me believe I was your daughter...for two years," the final word tasted like poison on her lips. 

Tears weren't only streaming down her face, but Reddington's too. His features were twisted into the same anguished expression as hers. 

She struggled to pull air into her lungs, it felt like every cell of her body was on fire and the room was moving. 

"How could I be so stupid?" she struggled, turning away from his figure and leaning on the bedroom dresser for support. 

He moved forward, hands moving as though he longed to conceal her. "Lizzie...you're not..."

"Shut up!" she spat, her body flying to face him, nothing but pure fury in her smoldering words. "You made a fool of the FBI, you made a fool of me," the words dug into his chest, past the three piece suit, straight into his flesh. 

"Why didn't you just tell me!" she was screaming now, her resolve disintegrated by six years of lies. "All you had to say was that the test was bullshit, that you weren't my father!"

"And then what Lizzie? Let you wonder how the shirt in evidence had the DNA of Raymond Reddington that didn't match mine? You backed me into a corner with that test. I didn't see it coming, I didn't know how to handle it."

She stared at him through blood red eyes, cheeks still glistening with the teardrops that continued to fall. 

"I've told you that I have NEVER lied to you!" he shouted back. "You asked me point blank if I was your father and I said NO. I told you the truth!"

Liz's fists were locked into shaking knots at her sides. "A lie of omission is still a lie!" she shot back. "You let me believe you were my father..." In her rage she picked up the glass of scotch that was nearby and threw it with all her force towards the fireplace. It erupted in a shout of glass and light and fed the flames already licking at the air.

"Lizzie, stop," he grabbed her by the arm and she swung at him, violently connecting her fist to his jaw. He took a stumbled step back but didn't lose his balance. She hit him again and again and realized he wasn't stopping her. Blood was pouring from his face. She stopped. He crumpled to the ground on his knees. 

"I couldn't tell you," he stared up at her, tears running streaks through the field of blood that smattered his face. "I couldn't lose you and I knew that if I told you I killed your mother and assumed your father's identity...that you'd never...you'd never...." he was now openly weeping, his hands shaking as upturned palms caught both blood and tears. "I have spent my entire life trying to make up for what I did. I've run through the flames for you Lizzie...I...I'd rather be dead than lose you."

She stared down at him with some indiscernible expression. 

"Trust me, however much you hate me right now, I hate me more. ...I've lost you now, I know that, but I still have to ask...ask for your forgivingness Elizabeth," he scrambled to his feet. 

"You don't deserve it," Liz gritted through clenched teeth. 

"I know I don't," he stood, swaying, immensely dizzy from the hits, blood pouring into his left eye from a cut above his eyebrow. 

He sucked in a breath, his brows gathered in anguish, he looked wholly broken. "You don't have to forgive me," his voice broke in several places, the blood was now pouring over his pressed white shirt. "But Lizzie...you need to know..." his lip quivered, a breath's pause passed between them. "...you need to know that I love you. You were the only light in my life." 

Whatever retort she had lined up for him disappeared as she struggled to make sense of what expression was on Red's face. His lips parted, eyes looked at her as if he'd just been surprised or shot, his hand rose from his side and covered his chest. Staccato breaths rushed in and out past his paleing lips and he lurched forward. At first his outstretched arm broke the distance between he and the floor, but in a moment he was on his side, face wracked with pain, hand over his heart. 

She stood there. Uncertain of whether to help him or simply walk away. She watched him struggle on the ground, and although he knew exactly what was happening, he never begged her for help. 

Poetic justice, that's what it was right? That was his thought process anyway. He didn't deserve to be...anymore. 

Just as the pain became insurmountable and blackness was encroaching upon his field of vision, he saw her move for her phone.


	2. Chapter 2

She called 911, so a conventional ambulance came to collect Raymond Reddington. Luckily, Liz had the forethought to give them a false identity that she could back up with a fake ID and insurance. They asked if there was anyone they should call for him...she said no...following the stretcher out the door and towards the elevator. They asked what hospital they should take him to. Knowing time was critical for heart attacks, she suggested the best known, closest hospital.

Despite the fury swirling in her chest, Liz found herself tailing the ambulance through the slick city streets. The blare of it's sirens echoed in the cabin of her car. The red and white lights danced off every droplet of rain that had fallen, lit up passing windows, illuminated murky pothole puddles. The drive seemed impossibly long, despite the freedom to fly through red lights. 

Finally, both parties reached the hospital. Red was taken to the ambulance bay and whisked into the building and Liz was left to wander the maze-like halls. With a heavy sigh she pulled out her phone once more and called Dembe. 

He showed up...with Assistant Director Cooper in tow. 

"What happened?" Cooper asked. 

"Heart attack," she said cooly. 

"Is he going to be alright?" concern twisted in Dembe's features. 

"I...I don't...know."

Dembe stepped closer, which inevitably drew the interest of Cooper who also lurched forward. 

"Why did you call an ambulance?" his tone dark. "Did you give them his real name?"

"I...wasn't thinking I guess...but I thought enough to give them a fake ID."

Dembe took a deep breath in and rubbed his hand anxiously against his neck. "You know that Raymond has the best doctors at his beck and call, we could have easily put together a mobile clinic," he sounded irritated.

Liz just shook her head. Normally she would apologize to Dembe, but she owed Raymond nothing. She didn't even have to call the ambulance. Even as a profiler, she couldn't fully comprehend why she didn't just let him writhe on the floor until...

"Are you the family?" a man in a white coat emerged from some fluorescent lit corridor. Liz spun around to face him. "I am," she lied "I'm his wife." Apparently it worked, because the doctor pulled her aside. The two walked a handful of steps away from Dembe and Cooper, towards a door that was painted a sickly sea green. It had a plaque next to it that said "Family Waiting Room." At reading the sign a few thoughts tumbled through her head, like the way the word "family" made her stomach feel sick, yet seemed to spark some yearning in her soul. She wondered how many people's worlds crumbled here...here in this room where the air conditioning was too loud and the fish tank made the whole space smell like mold. 

"Your husband has experienced a massive heart attack," the doctor finally said after shutting the door to the tiny room. He expected some sort of reaction out of her at hearing this news, but Liz stood frozen. "He's going to need double bypass surgery," the white coat said mechanically. "We're prepping him for surgery now. A nurse can come by and explain everything the surgery entails..."

"No...I uh...I had an uncle that had bypass surgery," she nodded, giving a weak smile, trying to further sell the lie. "The younger man out there, in the black jacket, he's...like a son to Henry," the made up name felt so bizarre. But then again...she didn't know Red's real identity, for all she knew, that could actually be his real name. "The nurse can come and talk to him, give him updates."

The thin skin near the doctor's left eye rose ever so slightly with suspicion. "Aren't you going to be here?" he queried. "I...I am, I will be, I'll come back, but my friends are insisting that I go home and get some rest. After all, it doesn't seem like I can be of any use in this situation."

Hopefully that thin excuse for an answer would pacify the doctor's suspicions. It seemed to be working, he nodded. 

"You should know that there is an excellent team working on your husband," the man assured, "however..." he paused, "you should prepare yourself for any outcome."

Liz gulped, forming tears were stinging at her bloodshot eyes. For the first time she displayed some emotion in front of the doctor and he gave her a pat on the shoulder before disappearing out the door. 

She wiped at her eyes and walked back into the hallway.

Dembe and Cooper stood, silent, waiting, anticipating the worst probably. 

"He's going to have a double bypass," she said, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. 

"Can I talk to you for a moment Agent Keen?" Cooper asked, not really asking. 

He began walking down the corridor and expected her to follow, which she did.

"You were with him when he had the heart attack?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Yes." Her expression was difficult to read. She seemed mostly unaffected, although her bright red eyes told a story that belied that ambivalence.

"What were you discussing when all of this happened?"

"What are you implying Cooper?" 

"I'm not implying anything."

"The hell you're not."

"You don't seem too shaken by this..."

"If I wanted to kill him, I think that a gun or a knife would've been the way to go...not aggravation to the point of a heart attack." 

"Something is off Keen, talk to me."

Her stormy blue eyes roved over his face as an internal struggle whipped between her rib cage. 

"He's not my father," she paused, letting the words sink in for Harold. His expression twisted into confusion. "But the DNA test confirmed it," his voice was between a growl and whisper. "His shirt was in evidence."

"He planted that shirt," she lied. And the instant the words left her lips she hated herself. Why the hell was she protecting him, even now? He killed her mother, ripped the very fabric of her world to shreds, obtrusively inserted himself in what was left of her sham of an existence...and here she was...saving his life, lying for him. She couldn't very well tell Cooper that the Raymond Reddington she knew, wasn't Raymond Reddington at all, but someone who killed the real Raymond Reddington twenty years ago. 

Fuck, what if that wasn't even the truth? All she knew for sure was that he wasn't her father and he, 100% for certain, killed her mother. His own identity was still murky. He may be Ray Reddington, or some imposter, who the hell knew anymore. Whatever the case, she didn't make her boss privy to this information. She told herself it was so she could figure out the whole story first...but that was a weak excuse to placate whatever truth she didn't feel like facing.

"Anyway, that's what we were talking about. I...I need to go home," she moved to walk past him.

"Don't you want to know if he'll be alright?"

She kept walking.


	3. Chapter 3

She went home to find sleep or solace or both, but found neither. Her place was cold, dark, lonely. The moonlight tried to press through the slats in the blinds, but a storm was rolling in. Liz could feel the charge in the air, hear the sickly lurch of the building as wind howled against it. Her stomach's protest was just as loud as the thunder. The sofa seemed like a good place to collapse but in doing so, she wondered if she'd ever get back up.

Her limbs felt heavy with exhaustion and every other breath came out as a loaded sigh. She was utterly exhausted but knew that sleep would be a stranger tonight. 

Scalding hot showers usually helped relieve the tension spring coiled between her shoulder blades, so she finally dragged herself from the sofa to the bathroom where she unceremoniously shed her clothes. She stood naked, arm outstretched, waiting for the water to warm. Finally, hot droplets began to pellet her hand, so she stepped inside. The calming lavender scent did little for her frayed nerves. She wrapped her arms around her torso and stayed like that...stationary...for a long time...until the water ran cold.

As the evening dragged on, her rage had dissolved into a simmer of what it had been earlier. Liz lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, letting her wet hair soak the pillow underneath her heavy head. She wanted to go to sleep, to escape this reality, but she wasn't the least bit tired. Instead, she stoked the internal turmoil that was bubbling just beneath the surface. 

She had every single right to be absolutely livid with Red. The first blow was finding out he wasn't "daddy dearest." That would be enough to deal with but...but she had finally found the elusive "suitcase," and knew...she just knew...as soon as she cracked the lock and lifted it open. The yellow white bones were a crusted, jumbled mess inside. Everything about it was deranged, degrading, inhumane, horrific...that was her mother, or what was left of her. 

Not only had Red lied to her face from day one (yes, lies of omission count), but he brutally murdered her mother. But why? And was he even Raymond Reddington? Was that even his real name? 

The notion that she didn't even know Red...this man...that she had spent so much time with, invested so much emotion into, was absolutely unnerving. She felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to scream and shake and cry and collapse, but none of that happened. She could only lay on the bed in her fuzzy bathrobe, paralyzed by the events that had transpired. Her mind raced in a thousand different directions and it was giving her motion sickness.

She rolled over on her side and tried to shake the image of the pile of bones in the suitcase. It was hard to do. And when she did finally shake that mental image, or at least move on to the next thing burned into her brain, it was Red...

In the blink of an eye she could see him, huffing for air, gasping for breath, telling her it would be alright if she just let him die. Did he want to die? Was he suicidal? No...not Red. 

She didn't know what was more unsettling, that he offered to let her off the hook for essentially murdering him by letting him die, or the fact that she actually considered that course of (in)action. Who had she become? 

Despite the hurricane of anger and betrayal she felt, there was a nagging ray of emotion that pierced through that storm. She cared for him. Her stomach lurched. She cared for the man who murdered her mother. Did he have a reason for doing it? Whoever he was, he sure paid a lot of time and attention to her. He had upped her career and saved her life. Yet he also planted that succubus Tom in her life. She was torn between loving and hating Red. And right in the middle of that feelings sandwich was guilt and fear.

Her eyes didn't move, they studied the uninteresting wall with intent. She felt like a ghost, like she just wanted to slip out of herself and into someone else. Everything with Red was so fucking complicated. She still didn't have all the answers and now...now...she may never get them.

In a rebellious guerilla tactic, tears began rolling down her cheeks. For as mad as she still was, she reached the conclusion that she did not want Red to die. After that realization, guilt came flooding in like a burst pipe. She got him all worked up, she hit him, she caused his heart attack. As those words reverberated in her mind, she felt a sharp pain in her chest and her throat felt like it was closing. Now she was openly sobbing, clutching at pillows and sheets and cursing at her reckless abandon that had spurred Red's heart attack on. 

She let herself cry and cry and cry until she was surprised that there were even tears left. She cried about Tom, about her dead parents, about Red...

But the thing that hurt the most was that he didn't trust her. That's what felt like a slap in the face. She trusted him with her life, she would do anything he asked of her...some weird, wicked little part of her was thrilled to find out that he wasn't her father. She never truly thought he was. And the knowledge of that threatened to unhinge the nearly bursting mental closet of sexual fantasies she had concocted regarding him before this whole mess even began.

Through tear crusted eyes she glared over at her nightstand clock. It was 3:30 in the morning. Shivers slid up and down her body from her neglect to dry her hair. Rather than get up and do it, she grabbed an extra blanket and threw it over her head, positioning it just so she could breathe. 

She wanted to drown in her sheets, to disappear in unconsciousness and somehow find Red waiting for her there.


	4. Chapter 4

Liz longed for sleep, but all she could manage were a few fitful hours of semi-unconscious relief within the endless stretch of night. When the sun's first rays peeked through her blinds she was already awake. Her usually feather-soft ivory sheets were twisted up and soaked in sweat beneath the quilt that had been kicked away and knotted up.

She hurried to the shower and quickly got ready. 

Walking to the car, Liz tried to convince herself that she would be fine with any outcome. If Red lived, she could get more answers from him. And if he didn't live, then she was free to live her life. 

But beneath these shallow thoughts that were so easy to cling to, was a deafening cacophony of emotion...and truth. The truth was she couldn't imagine her life without Red. Perhaps it was because he had so completely invaded every aspect of her life. Or maybe she had come to relish the solidity and safety she found in him. The longer she was around him, the more she realized she was like him. It was a startling revelation to say the least. He dragged her from her clean cut life of black and white into the gray and she wasn't so sure she could return.

The vehicle hummed to life as she turned over the engine. Pushing down a rising tide of panic she put the car in reverse and peeled out into the street. Earlier she had checked her phone for any update but none came...which wasn't surprising. Dembe probably blamed her for Red's heart attack in the first place. And Cooper very nearly accused her of intentionally harming him. 

No news was good news, right?

Much to her vexation, Liz caught every red light on the way to Mount Sinai Hospital. The drive seemed to drag on and on, but finally she reached Madison Avenue. The off white building barely stood in contrast to the dirty gray clouds that blanketed the sky. Rows of glass windows attempted to reflect what little light might break through the clouds, but the concrete giant felt cold to Liz, ominous.

After weaving through the maze of a parking garage and finally finding a spot, Liz made her way to the elevators. The hospital hallways were bathed in fluorescent lights and reeked of hand sanitizer. She wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run. She dreaded the news that he was suffering...or dead. At least that's how she felt right now. It seemed that her feelings oscillated between unadulterated hatred and suffocating sympathy. 

She found her way to his room and saw Dembe slumped in a chair in front of his door.

"Keen," he addressed her coldly. 

"How is he?" she asked, her voice small and fragile.

"He's alive. Unconscious. You can go in."

She gulped and walked towards the door reaching out for the metal knob. The room was a sterile, white continuation of the hallway, complete with the biting antiseptic smell and fluorescent overhead lights. The expanse of Red's skin that was exposed shocked her eyes. His chest was covered in bandages but no clothes, blanket or gown. In looking at his vitals, she could see why. He was running a slight fever, his heart beat quickly. The usually sun-kissed tone of his skin had paled to a sickly shade that competed with the off-white bedsheets.

Slowly she walked towards him, coming to sit in a chair that was already pulled up to his bedside. Anger and sympathy were replaced with an emptiness that sucked at the air in her lungs. It was hard to see the usually impenetrable Raymond Reddington lying unmoving in a hospital bed. 

Eventually...after sitting in the chair for a few hours...the shock of the sight of him wore off. Elizabeth Keen was going to get very familiar with this room. 

She tried talking to him, telling some long winded story like he usually told her. She tried reading to him. At one point she fell asleep in the uncomfortable chair, waking to the ache of the wooden arm stabbing into her ribcage. She only left the room to pee. The granola bars she had shoved in her purse before leaving her place made for makeshift meals. She didn't want to leave him...what if he woke up?

Staring at his eyelids she tried to will him to consciousness. She watched his chest steadily rise and fall with each breath. She traced the contours of his face with her memory...particularly savoring the way his blonde eyelashes fanned out of his closed eyelids. His lips were still and she missed the bemused smirk that they were typically twisted into. It would be easy enough to spend a lifetime studying his features, memorizing his mannerisms, appreciating his anecdotes and catering to his whims. 

Again she felt the relief that she wasn't related to him. These were definitely not thoughts that one typically has about a relative...

Liz had never seen him with so few clothes. His layers of armor were stripped away, his raw humanity revealed beneath the blinding overhead lights, every heartbeat echoing on the monitor. She found the continuous beep...beep...beep entrancing. It was probably why she had fallen asleep. But now Liz was awake, again praying that he would wake up. 

Seeing him in this state of disrepair had put a serious dampener on her rage. She wanted him alive. 

The entire day slipped away unceremoniously. Liz's back was to the window but throughout the day she watched as the light of the room shifted; from the glow of mid morning, to the blinding light of the afternoon, to the muted tones of evening. There was no beautiful sunset, no radiating rays of blush pink and sherbert orange, the clouds never cleared. As the sunlight vanished, the artificiality of the room was amplified. The four walls seemed to encroach along with the darkness of night, turning the little space into a claustrophobic box. 

With a yawn, Liz stretched out in the chair, trying to ignore her screaming aching muscles. She definitely had a newfound empathy for anyone who spent much time at a hospital, be they patients or family or friends.

With a crack she rolled her neck and massaged the taut column of muscles with her fingers. 

"Lizzie."

The word reverberated around the room as if it was shouted, but it was merely a whisper. 

Keen's bright blue eyes snapped to Reddington's face. His head was tilted towards her, bleary eyes trying to determine if she was real or a drug-induced hallucination.

"I'm here Red," she leaned forward, reaching out to take his hand. "You had open heart surgery," she blurted out, "you probably shouldn't be talking..." she reached over him and pressed the nurse's button. 

He hissed in pain, realizing that moving was not a possibility and talking was a most taxing task. 

"You...didn't let me die," he gritted out through the pain.

Tears began to sting behind Liz's eyes and it felt like her throat was closing. It made her stomach churn to think that she had actually considered that course of action...letting him die. 

"No, I didn't let you die," she replied. 

The monitor's tone was exposing Red's increasing heart rate. 

"Look Red, I'm here and I'm not leaving unless you tell me to. But as far as difficult conversations go...let's wait until you're feeling better."

He nodded in response as a nurse entered the room. "Mr. Clarkson, you're awake!" she chirped.

A look of confusion flitted across Red's face for just a moment before he realized that Liz must have given the hospital one of his fake ID's. He was in a hospital...not his own makeshift clinic...a fact that left him most confused. But at least he was alive.

"Just in time too," the nurse continued, "we need to run a few tests." Her elegant brown hands reached for Red's IV. She checked that everything was in order and gave Red a big smile. "You're wife has been so worried about you," she shot Liz a glance. "She's been here all day...talking to you, reading to you."

Liz feigned a cough and cleared her throat a little too loudly. She stood quickly and grabbed her purse. "I'm going to grab some coffee and food while they run their tests," she gave Red a nervous smile.

She walked around the bulky bed and looked at the nurse. "You'll let me know if anything happens?" 

"Oh of course Mrs. Clarkson, don't worry, he's in the best hands."

Liz nodded, looked over at Reddington once more and headed for the door.


End file.
